


In Relative Comfort

by WhosInTheAttic



Series: Trope Bingo: Round 2 [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Einstein and Eddington (2008), Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Slash, Oral Sex, Slash, Trope Bingo Round 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 19:07:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/916954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhosInTheAttic/pseuds/WhosInTheAttic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack befriends Arthur Eddington while visiting Cambridge during WWI. Eddington's integrity and brilliance reminds him of another man he lost years ago, far in the future. When he discovers Arthur is grieving, he wants to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for Round 2 of [Trope Bingo](http://trope-bingo.dreamwidth.org/). I'm going for the simultaneous double-line, and this fic fulfills my 'hurt/comfort' and 'FREE' squares. For my free square, I chose 'au: historical'. You can look at my bingo card [here](http://whosintheattic.livejournal.com/13207.html). 
> 
> This is my first time writing Jack _or_ Arthur, and it was a real challenge! I wrote this based on information from the 2008 film, so this is the fictional Eddington and any historical inaccuracies are the result of me listening to the television instead of a textbook.

Arthur paused to check the time. It had been nearly a month since William’s death, and still he found himself struggling through the days. His heart ached constantly, both for the loss and for all the things left unsaid. Things he’d never have the chance to say. He closed the small brass fob watch as he clutched it and carefully returned it to his pocket. His other hand adjusted the grip on the folder he was carrying, full of notes and calculations on Einstein’s theories.

Just then a man bumped into him, scattering the folder and its contents on the cobblestone street. For a moment he braced himself to be accosted by another of Cambridge’s citizens who took umbrage at his lack of participation in the war effort. When he looked, he saw a very apologetic smile on the face of the man stooping to gather his papers, “I’m very sorry,” the man said. At the same time, Arthur stooped to gather the papers as well. 

“It’s quite alright, no harm done,” he said quietly.

Jack righted the papers and caught a glimpse of what was on the first page. “You’re Arthur Eddington, aren’t you?” he asked, handing the slightly-wrinkled pages over.

“Why yes I am. And who might you be?”

“Jack Harkness,” he said, flashing his most charming smile, “It’s nice to meet you.”

0~0~0~0

It had been two weeks since Jack met Arthur, and the astronomer was kind enough to take him in when he’d discovered that Jack had no accommodations in Cambridge. Jack found himself one of many people coming and going from Eddington’s home as the days passed. Jack had gotten to know the Müller family; the first of several German-born families to experience trouble after the War had broken out and to find refuge with Arthur and Winifred. Many of the people who prayed with the Eddingtons had had their homes and businesses vandalized, chased and spat upon in the streets for no other reason than their German heritage.

Jack had been attending Arthur’s prayer services fairly regularly since his arrival. He wasn’t the sort of man—at least not anymore—to pay lip service to a religion just to bed an attractive man. No, what brought Jack to the services was Arthur. His bravery in the face of being spat upon in the streets and called a coward reminded Jack of another man he’d fallen in love with. A man he would always compare his romantic interests to, whether he meant to or not: the Doctor. Jack fell in love with the Doctor years ago and far, far in the future. It was after the London Blitz in 1941, but definitely before he and his friends had encountered Blon the Slitheen in 21st Century Cardiff. So Jack sat in silence and listened to Arthur’s words. Jack didn’t consider himself a religious man, but there was something to be said for a faith that encouraged you to take silent moments to think, to contemplate, to _listen_. 

Arthur had integrity. He was brilliant and handsome, and while he carried several of the desirable qualities that Jack saw in the Doctor, Arthur was also his own man. Reserved, measured, thoughtful, and exceedingly kind. He was far more open with his thoughts than the leather-clad time-traveler was, yet he still harbored a hidden pain, and—Jack suspected—a secret.

0~0~0~0

Jack never slept, so he would often walk the large corridors of Eddington’s home. It was technically owned by the university, so many of the furnishings were big and ornate and certainly not to Arthur’s tastes; portraits of former residents hung on the walls. One night, while walking the halls of the stately home, he overheard Arthur talking to his sister Winifred in his study.

 

“…but what if he died thinking that I was angry with him?”

“William knew you better than that, Arthur.”

“I try to tell myself that, Winnie; I really do. I…I…loved him so. I still do. But the thought of it keeps me up at night all the same.”

“I’m sorry you didn’t get the chance to tell him.”

“I had lots of chances. I was just too frightened,” Arthur sniffed, his voice cracking. “What’s so much worse is being unable to tell anyone. Apart from you, of course.”

“Is this about what Sir Oliver said?”

“Yes, I suppose it is; in part. I forgive him without question; he’s lost his son. But to assume I know nothing of loss? And I couldn’t say _a word._ ”

“You’re saying it now, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you Winnie. I’m glad that God has seen fit to give me a sister such as you.”

Jack slunk away to the far reaches of the house. Arthur had lost someone too; this should’ve made Jack feel less alone, but instead it made his heart ache even more. He couldn’t have imagined growing up in this time period, and suffering under the strain and fear of social stigma for seeking relationships with men…his life in the 51st Century may have been far behind him, but he was happy to have grown up in a freer time.

The gay men of this era were so far in the closet and so self-loathing that it made Jack wish he could change things. He knew the Doctor would never approve, of course, so it was just a niggling little urge at the back of his head. At that moment, 1914 might as well have been 1314.


	2. Chapter 2

On another of his late night walks through the mansion, Jack entered a large room near the front of the house, and found Arthur sitting on one of the high-backed benches, head bowed in prayer. His cheeks were wet with tears.

“Arthur? Are you alright?”

“No. Not particularly, no.”

“Neither am I,” he gestured at the place next to Arthur, “May I sit?” 

Arthur nodded, and spoke quietly, “What’s troubling you, Jack?”

“I…loved someone once. I loved him and I lost him,” Jack said quietly. He held his breath, expecting Arthur to be scandalized.

Arthur thought for a moment. “I’m very sorry to hear that.” He wanted to move away from this topic; it was so close to what was weighing on his own heart, but he couldn’t resist asking, “Did you ever tell him how you felt?”

“He knew,” Jack smiled softly. “We lived together…worked together. There was no way he didn’t know. When you spend that much time with someone, you can just read them.”

Arthur wondered if William had been able to sense his affections. “Did he love you?” Arthur asked.

“Yes. I think he did, in his way. It was all very complicated…”

“I understand,” he said, “too well, in fact.”

“Oh?” Jack said. New tears streamed down Arthur’s cheeks as he struggled to contain his sobs. Jack put his arm around the trembling shoulders of the man beside him. Arthur fell into his embrace despite himself, his tears soaking into the shoulder of Jack’s shirt. He held Jack and cried like he hadn’t cried since the day he’d confessed his feelings to Winnie under the tree in the garden. Jack held him close, one arm still around his shoulders, his other hand stroking soothing circles against his shoulder blade.

Perhaps at any other time and with any other person, Arthur would’ve simple dismissed himself; but Jack’s admission said that he trusted him with this secret, and Arthur felt he could trust him with his own secret as well. He and Jack were both…different, and in his embrace he felt himself calming. When he was sure he could speak, with his forehead resting on Jack’s shoulder, he told him, “I loved my best friend William Marston; properly loved him. And he died before I got the chance to tell him so,” Arthur’s voice broke and he wept some more, “I didn’t even say a proper goodbye.”

Arthur squeezed Jack tightly as he finished his confession, and Jack held him in an equal embrace. “I can’t tell you everything will be alright; it’ll probably always hurt, but try to focus on what you had, and not how you lost it. If you spend all your time trying to make sense of that, you’ll have wasted so much energy,” Jack gently pulled Arthur back to look him in the eye, “And you have so much energy, Arthur; the things I’ve seen you do, the people you’ve helped, the work you’re doing…you’re brilliant. You _will_ come through this.”

Arthur looked at him for a moment, maybe searching Jack’s face for a shred of doubt, but found none. He stared for another long moment before leaning in to press his lips against Jack’s. The American brought his hand to cup Arthur’s cheek, his thumb wiping gently at the wet streak of tears as his hand slid back into his light brown hair. The kiss was chaste, but firm and Jack reciprocated it with a longing that surprised him; a wave of guilt passed over him and he broke away.

“Arthur, I don’t think I should…” the Englishman only looked at him. He was certain he hadn’t misinterpreted things; Jack’s long looks these past weeks coupled with tonight’s admission? Surely he hadn’t misread the signs. “I don’t stay in one place for long. I don’t want to hurt you. You’ve been through enough. If this,” he gestures between them, “I mean…I would like _this_ ,” he gestures again, “but you’re grieving, and I—”

Arthur pressed his fingers to Jack’s lips to hush him. “So you’ll likely leave,” he said, drawing his fingers slowly down Jack’s plump lips, “Fair enough; and good on you for sharing that. But I know my own mind.”

Jack looked into the other man’s brown eyes, stunned by the intensity behind them. The words hung in the air for seconds that felt like hours, and then their lips were crashing into one another, once again chaste but firm. Jack carefully parted his lips and traced his tongue across Arthur’s bottom lip. This time it was the Englishman’s turn to withdraw. “I think, perhaps, we ought to retire…to my bedroom,” Arthur said, getting to his feet and straightening his clothes.


	3. Chapter 3

Once they were in his bedroom, Arthur wondered if this had been such a good idea. He suddenly worried that he wouldn’t be able to perform, that Jack would expect more from him than he could give…and—

“Arthur?” Jack said softly after he felt the man’s lips go still and body grow tense under his touch.

“I’m sorry, I…it’s just…I’ve not really done this sort of thing—thought about it, yes, but I’ve never…”

“It’s alright,” Jack said softly, leaning to kiss the man’s neck. Arthur’s breath caught and Jack whispered into his ear, “I’d never make you do something you didn’t want to.” Jack began to tug at the buttons of Arthur’s waistcoat, running his tongue along the column of the Englishman’s throat before pressing his lips to the bobbing Adam’s apple before him. Arthur whimpered and brought his hand to Jack’s hair, stroking it gently until the American nipped lightly at his throat; the sensation of teeth against skin caused him to curl his fingers into Jack’s dark brown locks as he whimpered.

Once again Jack’s lips found his, and there was nothing chaste about this; it was lips and tongues, pressing and sliding, hungry yet sensual. Arthur’s hands were trembling with anticipation, but his slender fingers were still able to work the buttons free of their holes, eventually baring Jack’s chest. He skimmed his fingertips gently over the exposed skin, exploring Jack’s nipples shyly before resting one palm over his heart. With his other hand, Arthur tugged Jack’s shirt free from his trousers.

After the Englishman divested him of his shirt, Jack broke the kiss and slowly unbuttoned Arthur’s shirt, glancing up from his work to watch the Englishman’s eyes as he watched his own hands explore Jack’s toned torso. His breath caught when Arthur’s fingertips brushed over his nipples before trailing to his ribs, urging him to follow as the Englishman took several backward steps toward his bed.

When they reached it, Jack peeled Arthur’s shirt and waistcoat down his arms in one go, pressing their foreheads together, his breath ragged as he looked down the lean body of the Englishman. He ran his fingers through his sparse chest hair. Arthur recaptured his lips and pulled him onto the bed.

It wasn’t until he’d pulled Jack down to the bed, and the man was pressed against him that he felt his erection pressing into his thigh. Arthur had to suppress a moment of panic. This was really happening. He really wanted this. Yet it scared him all the same, despite his own erection. Jack seemed to sense this, and eased off of him. “Relax,” he said gently, stroking his stomach with his fingertips as he moved down the length of his body to press a kiss just above his navel. Arthur looked on as Jack carefully undid his belt and trousers. “It’s alright,” he whispered, his breath tickling the wisps of hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his pants.

Arthur allowed himself to fall back on the bed. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and tried to focus on what he felt. He couldn’t look; out of embarrassment, nervousness, or shame—or some combination thereof—he wasn’t sure. His breath hitched as he felt Jack draw down his trousers and pants in one go, just far enough to expose him, but not down so far that he’d feel completely vulnerable. He felt Jack’s hand around his length, and as he stroked him up and down experimentally, Arthur couldn’t help but whimper. Then he felt tendrils of warm air, teasing at his wet tip. His hands fisted in the duvet as he braced himself for what would come next.

Jack was mindful to go slowly. He wanted Arthur to have time to object if he decided he didn’t want this. He looked up the thin form of the man beneath him, watching the way he bit his lip as Jack stroked him languidly. He exhaled against the hot, firm flesh before taking Arthur’s cock into his mouth. Arthur groaned as Jack worked his tongue along his length, taking him in as far as he could before gripping his cock and stroking it at he let his lips and tongue tease the head.

Arthur whimpered quietly, and his arousal gave him a bit of courage; he looked down the length of his body to watch the other man’s mouth working his cock. The spike of pleasure that shot through him was absolutely sinful; he shut his eyes once more, and instead threaded the fingers of one hand into to Jack’s already-mussed hair. Jack’s free hand clutched gently at Arthur’s hip, keeping him steady as the urge to thrust became harder and harder to suppress. 

Jack could feel one sort of tension replace another in Arthur’s body; he was letting himself have the comfort and pleasure he wanted, but now that pleasure was winding him tighter and tighter. Jack could hear it in the other man’s labored breaths as he struggled not to get too loud. “It’s close,” he whispered, “You should stop, I…” Arthur trailed off.

Jack drew off, still stroking him. “It’s okay. I want you to,” he said, caressing his thigh and taking Arthur’s cock between his lips once more.

There were only a few more strokes, before Arthur bit back a moan as his orgasm took him and he pulsed slippery wetness into Jack’s waiting mouth. The American swallowed his come, continuing to work his cock gently as he went soft. Jack placed a wet kiss to Arthur’s stomach and then moved to sit beside him.

“Jack, that was…different. Very…thank you,” he said, a blush of embarrassment staining his cheeks and blooming on his bare chest. He sat up, one hand shielding his cock as he used the other to run his fingertips lazily over Jack’s chest.

“It was nice,” Jack said, taking his wandering hand in his own. “I like the sounds you make,” he said quietly, bringing Arthur’s hand to his lips to kiss his fingers.

“Do you think God will punish us?”

“I don’t.”

“How can you sound so sure?”

“Have we harmed anyone? Do we have malice in our hearts?”

“No.”

“Then why would God punish us?”

Arthur’s only reply was to push Jack to the pillows and cover his mouth with his own. The American seemed to understand his fear and his pain in a way no other man he had encountered. It made him feel less afraid of facing another day, of living with his secret, of sliding his hand down to cup Jack’s erection over his trousers. He braced himself over Jack with one hand, and worked to undo his belt with the other. The two men tugged each other’s trousers down breaking away to full divest themselves before returning to each other. They lay side by side on the bed in each other’s arms, their lips pressing together, tongues pushing into one another’s mouths and retreating. Arthur’s hands explored the planes of Jack’s body, the curve of his waist, and the swell of his bum; he gave it a squeeze and pulled Jack nearer to him before slipping his curious hand between them to stroke the other man’s hard length.

After a few minutes, Jack gently took Arthur’s wrist and brought his fingers to his mouth. One by one, he kissed, nipped, and sucked them. He kissed the Englishman’s palm, sweetly at first, then sloppily before guiding his hand back down to his cock again. Arthur’s slender fingers closed around Jack’s shaft more firmly this time, stroking slowly at first before settling into a surer rhythm that made Jack groan.

Arthur kissed Jack before pulling away again; he withdrew his hand from Jack’s cock and Jack whimpered with the loss. Arthur spit into his hand and immediately resumed his task, giving an unexpected twist of the wrist that made Jack involuntary jerk his hips forward. Jack wound his fingers into the Englishman’s hair, and covered his mouth with his own to stop the litany of swear words that threatened to pour out.

Soon both men’s breathing was ragged, their foreheads pressed together, mouths inches apart. With a deep moan, Jack came, his essence pulsing over Arthur’s knuckles and slicking the back of his hand. Both men collapsed onto their backs. After a moment, Jack broke the silence, “That was…fantastic,” he laughed.

“It _was_ quite nice,” Arthur grinned. His eyes flicked to his sticky hand, “I’m just going to…clean up,” he said, getting out of bed. “Would you like a flannel?”

“Sure.” Jack watched Arthur’s pert arse as he walked into the adjoining bathroom. A few moments later, he returned with a damp cloth for Jack. After cleaning up, Jack slipped his underwear back on (technically far too modern for the time, but Arthur didn’t comment; maybe he assumed these were worn by everyone in America) and slipped under the sheets to join Arthur, spooning him close.

“Thank you, Jack,” Arthur whispered.

“Thank _you_ , Arthur.” Jack kissed his shoulder and squeezed him a bit tighter. Jack hadn’t really slept since the game station, but he was more than happy to hold Arthur as sleep found him.

**Author's Note:**

> This idea has been sitting on my hard drive for a very long time, but it was only when I received my Trope Bingo card that I actually got the ambition to write it, and I'm really glad I did. I hope you'll be seeing more appearances of Jack in my fic in the future!


End file.
